Anytime my mom — “Mama” — visits, I am quickly displaced as Andrew’s favorite person. I wanted to change his pull-up and he fought me, screaming “Mama do it!” And then she did. I do love that he loves her so much. I get the appeal, and it’s more than whipped cream.

My parents bought him a set of two Thomas shirts. He also got some toys, but the shirts were his favorite. At various points during the day, he picked up the shirts and showed them off saying, “Look at that. That’s a nice shirt. Wow. Look at that.”

Every time they watch “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving,” and they must have watched it 10,000 times, Matilda imitates the part where Charlie Brown goes to kick the football, Lucy pulls it away from him, and he falls to the ground screaming “Arrggggh.” It’s hilarious.

There are still skid marks on my floor, despite steam mopping, from where Mama was giving them “wild rides” on their scooter. They had so much fun. The marks will fade. The memories will not.